House Tour
by Flatpickluvr
Summary: House embarks on a new adventure! We'll see Chase, Wilson, Thirteen and Taub too. Good times ahead!
1. Chapter 1

House Tour

**Yes, readers, the writing muse has revisited me! This will be a short story involving House, Wilson, Chase and my favorite dog from the series, Hector. It is based on something happening in St. Louis right now. I'm just getting my feet wet again in the writing world... there will most likely be longer stories to come soon.**

The dark blue light of early morning leaked in dribs and drabs through a tiny slit between the curtains in his bedroom. He wasn't ready to wake up yet. He rolled over and yanked the covers back up over his head. A soft little yelp erupted from the pillow next to him.

_Hector; oh God, I woke Wilson's damn dog up. _ "Shut up stupid," he muttered. "Go back to sleep." Hector yawned, a deep stinky-dog-breath yawn, licked his scruff and moved in closer, curling up under his jaw. Perfect place for an old, arthritic, stinky dog; he thought. Right under the jaw of an old, stinky cripple.

The last case had been somewhat atypical for him. Of course the diagnosis wasn't easy. They never were, once they arrived in his department. Often he would arrive at the correct diagnosis before his team did, but this time, he was just as puzzled as his fellows were. This time, it wasn't the teacher teaching the students. It was the teacher and students learning together. The outcome was a correct diagnosis, successful treatment and the subject of a future publication.

He did one of two things that helped relieve stress after work. He got drunk. Not the best way to deal with stress. It was a bad habit, difficult to break. It was not the best time to get drunk, either. He was about to embark on a new adventure, and getting drunk the night before was a horrible way to start.

As he lay in the gloomy blue light of early morning, several hours before he was accustomed to waking up, apprehension began to raise its ugly head. What had he gotten into? Was this something he really wanted to do? Had he completely thought this through before agreeing to it?

He was due at the Philadelphia airport in three hours. He'd taken a two month leave of absence from work, now that his last case was finished.

He and Chase were going on tour.


	2. Chapter 2

House Tour chapter 2

_This is stupid_, he thought as he reluctantly climbed out of bed at 5 am. Musicians NEVER get up this early. Musicians are rarely even conscious at 5 am unless they are just getting home from a gig, and even then, it's a pretty damn good bet that they really are not fully conscious.

He'd lost a bet, and fair is fair. He had to fulfill his end of the bargain.

Some time ago, Chase announced that he was taking the months of September and October off to go on tour. House threatened blackmail and even termination, but Chase exercised his right to a well-deserved vacation. Two months was a bit much, though.

"Go on tour for what?" House yelled. "I play violin," Chase offered meekly. "You look good holding a violin. I've never heard you play it. I bet you were a Suzuki robot as a kid. You haven't touched the damn thing in years. Now you want to look cool but you can't play the thing worth a damn," House countered.

"Wanna bet?" Chase grinned.

"Yeah. Bring the damn thing to Starbucks tonight. I'll be there with some people you don't know, playing guitar. Hundred bucks says you can't hang with us."

"Two hundred bucks says you can't hang with me," Chase fired back with a mischievous grin.

"Five hundred bucks says you don't even know Red Haired Boy. Every fiddler knows that. You'll be out of there before you know it," House said with an evil grin.

"Fine. I'll take your five hundred and when you can't play Maple Leaf Rag with me, I'll take another hundred from you too."

"Your loss," House finished. "Scott Joplin would shoot you, you know, if he hadn't been dead for, like, a hundred years."

That same night, Chase walked into the nearest Starbucks at about 7 pm. It was a Saturday and the place was crowded with regulars, quietly drinking their hot lattes. People were sitting at the same table and texting each other instead of just talking. Chase could never understand why people would sit at the same table texting each other madly, and not talking. Thumbs and fingers flew wildly over keyboards, and the only noise in the place was that of a few guitarists in the back trying desperately to get their temperamental instruments in tune. The place was cold because some idiot employee cranked the thermostat too low and the air conditioning ran non stop. Goosebumps on the arm aren't exactly normal when it's 100 degrees fahrenheit outside, and when it's that cold inside, acoustic instruments never stay in tune for long.

"Turn the damn freezer off in here!" House's cranky baritone barreled out loudly from the back room. "We're freezing our asses off!"

The baristas ignored him, busy as they were with thirsty customers lined up for hot coffee and more lattes. A cold atmosphere keeps customers wanting hot coffee even when it's hotter than Hades outside. Never mind the high electric bill, or the drain on electrical resources. In a coffee shop, the baristas learned quickly that it paid to keep the thermostat turned down a bit too low. The baristas were paid to make and sell coffee, not wait hand and foot on cranky musicians.

Not happy with being deliberately ignored, House lurched to his feet and limped out to the coffee bar to berate some unfortunate barista face to face, but was met with Chase instead.

"Hah, thought you'd chicken out. We're tuning up in the back. At least, we'll be in tune if they get the DAMN PLACE A LITTLE WARMER," House shouted at the nearest barista, who just shrugged her shoulders and continued to ignore him in the interest of the paying customer in front of her.

It took every molecule of self control she had in order to keep from yelling "Hey, dickwad, we have paying customers up here! Get up off your ass and come over here and order something, and we'll turn the thermostat up a little." Freeloaders, she thought. They wanna come in here, play guitar, expect people to tip them, and then not buy anything. Let 'em freeze.

The barista had no intention of doing anything for House as long as the only reason he had for coming to the counter was to yell at her. Chase intervened with a charming, seemingly sincere smile. He'd get her number, that's for sure. "Hi! I'll have a venti hot mocha. He'll have a venti hot coffee. By any chance, could I ask you, when you have time, if you could turn the thermostat up just a tad? We're jamming tonight, and it's a little cold for our instruments. I know you're busy, but we'd really appreciate it when you get a chance."

Chase turned to House and the sweet, sincere smile turned into a bit of a smug grin. "Use a little honey sometime, House."

The barista accepted Chase's money, made their coffees and promptly cranked the temperature up just enough to make the instruments and the cute blond guy happy.

House limped ahead of Chase, not even offering to carry his own coffee even though he did have one free hand. Chase followed, carrying his violin case in one hand and a tray with the two coffees in the other hand. "You could help, you know; take your damn coffee!" he said to House's back. "Nope. Your choice to buy two coffees. You carry 'em," House retorted.

When they arrived in the back part of the coffee shop, Wilson was already seated with two other casually dressed people; a guy and a girl, both with guitars. "Floppy fiddler wannabe, this is plumber guy and guitar girl," House said by way of introduction. Wilson just shrugged and said softly, "Yeah, this is gonna be fun. In about five seconds they'll be crying, mad, or just plain gone. Let's get the show on the road."

Chase found a comfortable (albeit too deep) overstuffed chair, sat down and carefully placed his hot drink on the table to his right. He opened his violin case and carefully removed his beloved and well worn fiddle. The interior of the black violin case was a beautiful, worn red velvet, just like the interior of House's Gibson guitar case. Inside the violin case there was a dark brown, beautiful full sized violin; about the color of a good Columbian Roast coffee. The finish was unusually dark for a violin, House noticed. Please tell me the idiot didn't have it refinished in a darker color, he thought. House stared at Chase as he removed his violin from its case. The case contained not only the violin but two well-cared-for bows as well. One bow was significantly shorter than the other. House filed that information away for future use. Surely it had to be significant that Chase carried a 1/4-sized bow, sized for children, in addition to a full-sized bow.

House also noticed that there was no odor from the case when Chase opened it. Mildew almost always grows in lined instrument cases when they lie unopened for long periods of time. People can say what they want, but when they come to a jam and the smell of mildew pours out of their instrument case when they open it, you know that they haven't played that instrument in a very, very long time. The fact that no odor came from Chase's violin case was another interesting item to file away in the Chase file folder in House's mind.

House watched, transfixed, as Chase selected the larger bow. "Size matters," he chuckled out loud as he realized House was staring at him. "Get your big pick out. I call the first tune. Let's play Minor Swing," Chase announced.

"No way you know Django Reinhardt!" House challenged. "I don't," Chase replied. "He died before I had a chance to meet him. Shut up and play." Chase kicked the tune off as well as Stephane Grappelli ever played it with Django. Wilson sat back with a smug grin on his face, leaned over to House and whispered, "I think you just lost $600."

"This ain't over with," House whispered back. They swung their way through Reinhardt's Minor Swing, a great swing tune. Chase hogged all the solos and wouldn't let House or the other two guitarists take their own solos. Seeing that the other two players were going to be left in the dust if he didn't intervene, Wilson chimed in when the tune was over with. "I know you're probably used to everyone politely taking their turns with the solos, but tonight these two idiots have a thing going on. You all are going to just have to jump in if you want to play any solos. Don't wait for those tools to let you play."

House called the next tune. "Maple Leaf Rag." The other guy and girl pulled up the music for that tune on their Ipads. House and Chase, with no need for sheet music, just squared off facing each other. Wilson leaned in for what was sure to become the Battle of the Boneheads. Maple Leaf Rag was written for piano and is notoriously difficult to play on guitar; definitely not a tune typically played in a public jam session where players of varying degrees of ability often join in the fun.

House and Chase stared at each other fiercely as they played louder and louder. Neither of them had any need for the sheet music. The other guy guitarist was the first to pack up and leave in a huff. The girl actually did a pretty darn good job hanging in there with the two boneheads. The Bonehead Brothers, as Wilson had already begun to refer to them, unknowingly had the attention of every customer in the coffee shop. They were all raptly listening to these two guys try to outplay each other. The girl, seeing the truth behind what Wilson had said, finally stood up and walked over in-between House and Chase, confidently playing a beautiful solo. Both men backed off a bit, and played a little more softly, but not out of any kind of respect for each other. They were just taking a break while the girl played. They weren't even paying attention to WHAT she played. They strummed along softly, biding their time, waiting for her solo to end so the Bonehead Brothers war could resume.

She proudly finished her solo and looked around to find that Wilson was really the only one, apparently, who cared about the beautiful solo she had just played. She hadn't made one error, and it was lovely, and the only one who clapped was Wilson. Everyone else in the shop, at least fifteen other customers, anxiously waited for the other two guys to pick up where they had left off. They didn't have long to wait. The girl, as yet unnamed, sat down in frustration. _Some fun this jam is_, she thought. _I might as well not be here at all._ Still, she continued strumming softly as she listened to the amazing duet unfolding in front of her.

House and Chase resumed trying to outplay each other, but the intricacies of this Joplin rag were such that the two finally decided to change their battle strategy. Instead of playing at the same time and trying to outdo each other volume for volume, they traded solos with each other. Chase played a particularly lively "A" part, and when it came to the "B" part, he backed off and wordlessly dared House to play something even trickier. House played the "B" part flawlessly and with a little more swing than it was originally written, in a successful attempt to show off and try to throw Chase off the beat.

Chase followed with the "A" part again, in the same swingy beat House had just played. The tune was already pretty damn good, Wilson thought, and it just got better and better the more they played. When they finally ended the tune eight minutes later (it's only about a four minute tune), the entire place erupted in applause. Even the poor girl, who actually did a pretty good job keeping up with them despite her initial frustration, couldn't help but clap.

The Bonehead brothers studied each other as the applause died down, in a bit of a standoff. They each waited silently to see who would be the first to speak up. After a few moments of awkward silence, Wilson pulled out his wallet and counted out six crisp hundred dollar bills. House shot him an angry look.

"What? You owe him six hundred dollars," Wilson said. Chase snatched it out of his hand, and House, in turn, snatched it out of Chase's grasp. "Not yet, pretty boy. It's the girl's turn to call a tune." House sat back smugly. "You want this?" he said, waving the money around. "Play her tune. No sheet music. Then play the tune that all fiddlers should know. You do that, and this is yours as promised."

The Bonehead Brothers looked at the girl, waiting for her to call a tune. She proved to be no slouch. She decided to show them that she could show off, too.

"Blackberry Blossom!" she called out. _Oh God,_ House thought. _I've never heard that song before... but how hard can it be? She's a rank amateur!_

She kicked it off at a blistering tempo in the key of D. This song was Doc Watson's signature tune. House was stunned. The girl was simply wonderful. He had to listen silently to the first ten bars or so before he caught on and started playing a basic rhythm behind her. He knew he could not match her soloing ability, but the big question was, could Chase? He wasn't about to lose this bet, and six hundred dollars was at stake here! House didn't know it, and he felt sure that Chase wouldn't either.

One of the few facts that House didn't take into consideration was that violins, like guitars, could be tuned in open tunings, like open D. Blah, blah, blah; basically it means that the performer can play any tune in that key pretty easily without having to know the melody. Chase had a big advantage over House. His fiddle was already tuned in open D. It didn't matter that Chase didn't know the melody. Somewhere around the second beat of the first bar, Chase jumped in on fiddle and left House in the dust. Chase and the girl were having a blast. Chase and Wilson both smiled at House, who struggled through a few bars and then gave up trying to play along with them. "Stupid song, anyway," House grumbled.

After the second round of applause died down, the girl called a ten minute break. Chase took a drink of his now-cold mocha, and took the opportunity to sidle up to the bar and sweet-talk the same cute barista into fixing him another hot mocha free of charge. By the time he was done whispering sweet nothings into her ear at the bar, she'd have gladly ripped off all her clothes and done it with him right there and then, right there on the counter next to the pastries.

Back in the back, House and Wilson had a confab. "Stop jerking him around. This isn't even supposed to be a competition, and yet the girl just schooled you. I know this goes against your nature, but be nice. Pay him and stop showing off."

"Ah, but there's one more song left, Wilson. One song is, or should be, in every fiddler's bag of tricks. If he knows it, the money's his."

"Technically, no, the money's mine," Wilson replied, snatching the money finally out of House's reach and firmly depositing it back in his wallet.

"Not for long. Break's over, Hansel! Stop almost fornicating on the bar and get back here!" House chirped loudly enough to embarrass everyone except the two guys who were immune to his brashness.

With a smile on his face, Chase rejoined the little musical group in the back. He knew what was coming. House, Chase and the girl each re-tuned their instruments, and House glared at Chase. "Your turn, buddy boy!"

"Red Haired Boy, key of A!" Chase called out.

"It's in D, you moron!" House retorted.

"It's in any key I damn well feel like playing it in. Play or go home. I don't care; but we're playing it in A."

"I can still fire you, you know," House muttered softly in acquiescence as he began playing this D major tune in the key of A major. The trio did a wonderful job on this merry dance tune. At the end of the evening, Chase went home six hundred dollars richer, House left six hundred dollars poorer, and Wilson became the manager of the newly formed Bonehead Brothers duet.


End file.
